


way out in the water

by plastics



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Anal Sex, Conversion, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hypnotism, M/M, Mind Control, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23604400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plastics/pseuds/plastics
Summary: "Are you excited for your big appointment today?”Corey blinks. It’s early still but blinking already hurts, and he’s immediately annoyed at the intrusion, the distraction, the utter bullshit this is queuing up to be. “What?”“With the hypnotist!”
Relationships: Hypnotist/Straight Guy, OMC/OMC
Comments: 14
Kudos: 380
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	way out in the water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chicago_ruth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicago_ruth/gifts).



It’s after breakfast—or lunch or dinner, these things start to blend together when you’re waking up at four and only eating a meal a day—when the call comes in. Corey considers letting it go, especially when he sees it’s not from anyone in the company, but Abigail can be persistent. He finishes defining the latest element and leaves a note where he was going, pauses, tweaks the last sequence he’d written, then catches her on the fifth ring of the second call.

“Hiiii, babiest boy. Are you excited for your big appointment today?”

Corey blinks. It’s early still but blinking already hurts, and he’s immediately annoyed at the intrusion, the distraction, the utter bullshit this is queuing up to be. “What?”

“With the hypnotist!”

“Abby,” Corey grits out, “I know you didn’t quite finish that nutrition degree and that explains why you can’t tell the difference between real science and the shit your Instagram feed peddles, but I really do not have the time to have some quack tell me to breathe deeply and visualize my goals.”

The call goes quiet for long enough that he assumes she hung up, almost forgets about the conversation altogether, before she cuts back in to say, “Corey, you’re my favorite brother and I love you, but you are an unimaginable asshole. You won’t let a therapist help. You won’t let me or any friends that I hope you still have left help. Maybe having someone crack open your skull and do it for you is what you need. It’s kind of your last chance, as far as I can see.”

“I’m your only brother,” Corey responds. It’s the same thing he’s said since they were kids, and 

“And I’d love it if you could put some effort into maintaining that count. Happy birthday, by the way.”

* * *

His Google Calendar said the appointment was at three, but apparently Abigail had been right to lie to him about it.

The office is all the way out in SoMa, which is almost enough of a deterrent to send him back into his apartment. Traffic is bad. Parking is bad. The tourists are bad.

The lobby is surprisingly nice. He expected to be submerged into some enclave from the 1960s: pamphlets about chakras, tie-dye, the front desk offering him some mushrooms just barely under the table. Instead, it looked… normal. Maybe a little dated, but the sleek modernism of the offices Corey spends most of his time wouldn’t have been particularly fitting, either. 

Jonathan—and that’s what he introduces himself as, even though he has degrees, real ones, on his wall that would lend him a higher title—isn’t quite what Corey imagined, either, somehow both younger and older than really made sense. Graying at the temples. Respectable.

“So what do you do, Corey?”

He sighs, pained, before saying, “I’m a software engineer at Cirrus, working on—”

“I imagine that I can fill the gaps, if you don’t mind me saying,” Jonathan says with a deep chuckle. Corey prickles, fingers twitching as he continues, “Same as I can imagine that you are not particularly enthused to be in my office, or that this is hardly your first intake interview.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “Not to conflate what we do here with traditional therapy, which has its own merits, but, quite frankly, we’re only just barely through this meeting, and I already have a feeling that hypnosis will be a very effective method for you.”

“You don’t have to sell me on it,” Corey says, and the silence stretched on long enough that it made it clear Jonathan expects more, he continues, “My sister paid for, like, three months of sessions or something ridiculous like that.”

“Hm. And you plan on attending all those meetings?”

“I mean, I guess.”

“Why?” Corey blinks. Jonathan continues, “It’s not as if I would be reporting back to your sister. You could easily let the months pass, lie to her, and I would have an extra hour to chip away at my summer reading list. It’d hardly be the first time. Can you tell me why you are dedicated to this process, despite your hesitation?”

Corey shifts in his seat. “Not really.”

“As you won’t, or as you can’t?”

“… Can’t, I guess.” 

Jonathan sits forward in his chair, and it’s like the air in the room shifts. “Well, then, if you don’t mind, I think that is a fitting goal for this appointment. Hypnosis is not a process that can be done without the subject’s engagement, and uncovering a deeper motivation than ‘my sister told me to’ would be well worth our time.”

Part of Corey just wants to walk right back out of the office, out of the city, shut himself back into his apartment. He has too many things to do to be wasting time like this, and in the back of his mind, he can hear the voices of his buddies back home joking about California turning him soft.

But Corey can’t remember the last time he talked to those guys—can’t really remember ever _liking_ them, how freeing it felt at first just to be alone—and some part of him is just over it, over himself, so why the fuck not let this guy dig around in his head?

Jonathan doesn’t have him lie down for the induction. He sits with his back straight, hands curled over the arms of the chair. It takes awhile. They count breaths. Talk about the bay. Goals—just work-based for now. Feel his fingers and toes.

The actual state of being hypnotized isn’t quite recognizable until it’s over. Or, rather, it’s familiar in its focus, its rest, but Corey had never been able to truly capture it before, just fell into it and lost the better parts of his days to Python or the crashes immediately following the conclusion of big projects.

But this felt _controlled,_ like his mind is being calibrated. When Corey blinks back awake and Jonathan says, “I feel like we’ve made some good progress today,” he doesn’t disagree. He doesn’t _want_ to disagree. He walks out of the office with his head still whirring at a manageable frequency.

Then, because Corey was already downtown, he decides to stop by Mountain Lake. Parking has possibly gotten even worse in the time he was with Jonathan, but it’s not too bad to make the walk impossible. He takes some pictures. Sends them to Abigail.

* * *

Corey and Abigail are between birthdays, and they’re talking on the phone. It’s actually kind of nice. They didn’t always get along as kids, but it’s better as adults with two time zones and a four-hour direct flight between them. _Everything_ is better now. Even she picks up on it.

“You sound… really good, Cor.”

“Yeah,” he says, a smile tugging on the side of his base. “I really can’t thank you enough for signing me up for those appointments, they’ve really just been revolutionary.”

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Abigail responds.

She sounds it, too, so Corey continues, “I actually just signed up for another year of sessions last week.”

“Wait, I’m sorry did you say another year?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Wow. Okay.” She stops there, but the amount of judgment packed into just those two words has Corey’s skin prickling.

“What’s your problem?”

“I don’t have a _problem—”_

“I’m doing better now than I have ever been. And you’re the one who sent me to this guy! How can be all like, ‘Oh, Corey, actually now I think you’re too happy, bluh bluh bluh—’”

“I know, Corey, I really do,” Abigail interrupts. “And I didn’t say that. But it’s, like, hypnotherapy isn’t really supposed to be a long term thing? When I was trying to quit smoking, I went once, and when that worked, I went like four more times to help with the heights thing. And it worked! But. Like. … I don’t know, the only reason I booked out as long as I did was because I was sure you were going to blow off a few. A year just seems extreme.”

“Well, maybe that’s true with the hack you went to, but Jonathan is legit. I’m making real, serious progress here, and I’m not going to stop just because you’ve decided I’m too happy now,” Corey snaps. His ears and face and neck are all burning, both out of embarrassment and anger. 

The line is quiet for a long time, then Abigail says, “Are you sure this isn’t like… when people project relationships onto their therapists? Or, just, like… Corey, are you—”

He hangs up before she can finish the question.

* * *

The conversation still eats at Corey. It’s one of the things they’ve been working on—not holding grudges, trusting people to want the best for him—but just the insinuation is like a threaded needle.

Jonathan picks up on it, because of course he does. Corey sums up the conversation with more holes than he usually does; he trusts Jonathan, of course he does, but he doesn’t need to know everything.

“Hm,” Jonathan says. “And why does her questioning your sexuality bother you as much as it does?”

Corey shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “I don’t know. I guess because people always have? Like just because I’m not super built or athletic or outgoing, I have to be gay. And I’m not. I like women.”

“And you’re sure of this?”

“Uh, yeah? Why are you fighting me on this?”

Jonathan’s voice is low and steady as he responds, “I’m not fighting you on anything, Corey. You just clearly have a lot of tension and anxiety built up around this topic. Perhaps we should work on unpacking some of that today.”

“I don’t think this is really—”

“Corey,” Jonathan interrupts, “I want you to feel the air entering your lungs.”

His voice registers deep in Corey’s mond, and without even really thinking about it, Corey is suddenly very aware of the cool brush of air against the back of his throat as he inhales, how the back of the chair pushes back against the expansion of his chest.

“I don’t…” Corey starts, but even this early in the process, it’s hard to hold onto the outside stresses that get in the way of a productive session. It was one of the first things they’d worked on; Corey hadn’t liked the thought of wasting half of his time just getting prepped for the main event.

By the time Jonathan is done walking him down, Corey can barely hold onto any real objection. It’s still there, he can feel himself and what he wants, but it’s like a deep thrum from the opposite side of a lake. 

And he trusts Jonathan. Jonathan is what tethers him to the world like this, who is going to pull him back up in a better place than he started.

“Now, Corey, what were you leaving out about your conversation with your sister?”

Corey exhales. “She asked if we were having an inappropriate relationship. If I was attracted to you.”

“And how did you respond?”

Inhale. “No.”

“No?”

“I didn’t, really.”

“And why was that?” No response. “Were you trying to hide something?”

“Yes.”

“What were you trying to hide?”

Corey presses his toes against the soles of his shoes, feels his heart beat a little faster. His head feels all knotted up, some part of him still holding back. It’s not the point of being here, how he’s supposed to be with Jonathan. He admits, “I can’t get off without hearing your voice.”

Corey’s eyes are clothes but he can picture Jonathan sitting forward as his chair creaks. “How so?”

“Just can’t. I don’t know why.”

A sigh. “Let me be more clear: How did you discover this? How are you taking care of yourself now? Speak plainly.”

“About a month ago, I couldn’t come anymore. I’d be jerking off and watching porn for hours, and it’d just be… nothing. I’d be bored, my hand would start hurting. Then I was doing a home session, my cock got hard. I tried to focus, but it felt like what I was _supposed_ to do. So now it’s just what I do, three times a week with the recordings.”

The chair creaks again, louder this time but not so loud as to really penetrate Corey’s concentration. Jonathan’s voice is deep and low as he says, “You can’t hear my voice without getting hard.”

“Yes.”

“You’re hard right now.”

“Yes,” Corey repeats, although it isn’t necessary. Hands are pushing his t-shirt up, pulling deftly at the button of his shorts. He didn’t lie; he could feel his dick well on its way to full, rising up. Any arousal feels almost separate. His body is reacting, but his mind still feels even, far-off from what this should mean to him. It just is. He trusts Jonathan.

Corey’s dick is pulled out of his boxers, and a hand—Jonathan’s hand—wraps around it, jerks him firmly. “You’re embarrassed by this lack of control.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t have to respond to everything, boy,” Jonathan responds, and Corey’s tongue goes flat and numb in his mouth. The hand keeps working on his cock, long pulls followed by focused swirls around the head, a finger pressing at the slit. “Forget being able to get yourself off like this. No one can touch you as well as another man can. And this—” there’s a pause, a wet suction at the head “—isn’t even the main event.”

One hand remains of Corey’s dick, but two more fingers press against his mouth. “Open your mouth. Get these wet for me.”

Corey does. His tongue still feels clumsy, but the fingers are thorough, pressing against his tongue, along the edges of his teeth, deep enough to make him gag.

His shorts are pulled down further and a leg is moved over the arm of the chair. It feels precarious, his hip pulled in a way it never is. The touch of cool, wet fingers makes him jump even through the haze of hypnosis. “You’ve been far too embarrassed to try this yourself, but you’ve been desperate for it.”

One fingers begins to slide in, and a noise escapes Corey’s face as he wiggles—not quite away, Jonathan doesn’t like, but he absolutely hasn’t had anything in him before, hadn’t even really thought about it until he started seeing Jonathan.

“Sh, sh,” Jonathan soothed. “Breathe through it. You’re going to live for moments like this. You’re desperate for something to fill you up.”

Jonathan works him open, twisting in and out, petting with two fingers before sliding them in, too. It’s a lot. More than Corey could have imagined. He’s panting by the time Jonathan hones in on a spot within Corey that’s as overwhelming as Jonathan promised it would be.

“That’s right, there you are. You’re going to come just like this,” Jonathan said. The hand on his cock has gone largely still, a thumb still petting lightly at the underside of his dick. Jonathan keeps talking him through it, two fingers buried within him and another massaging that spot behind his balls, coaxing the come out of Corey. _“Good_ boy.”

At home, an orgasm always sends Corey even deeper into a meditative state, his mind and his body always looser, freer. He doesn’t shift at all as Jonathan shifts back, stands, opens a drawer in his desk.

“I was going to wait,” Jonathan said, almost conversationally. “Can’t push too hard, too soon and all that. But you, dear, you are a natural. I simply can’t let someone else have the first go at it. We’re just going to have to go a bit quickly.”

Corey doesn’t respond. He can barely even comprehend anything as Jonathan kneels before him again, clicks open a bottle, squirts out something wet.

There are hands on his legs again, his ass, spreading him open as something presses back against his hole.

“Keep breathing,” Jonathan soothes. “Don’t fight me.”

Corey can’t do anything but listen and feel himself be spread open, deep and wide, sending electric shocks through his entire body. He’s never been the type to be able to go more than once, and this, whatever this is, is so far removed from anything that Corey knew.

“Look at you, soft and crying on my cock,” Jonathan says, as friendly as his words aren’t. He thumbs at the corner of Corey’s eyes before tapping at his cheek. “You’re alright. In fact, this is the best you’ve ever felt. From here on out, nothing will compare to having a man’s cock in your hole, using you for all you’re worth.”

Jonathan’s panting through it, and as overwhelmed as Corey feels in his body, some part of it is processing what Jonathan is saying, burying it within him, tending to it while Corey’s conscious is too far away to touch it.

After a few minutes, Jonathan pulls out and, with a few deep groans, comes into his own hand before bringing it to Corey’s mouth. “There you go. You’ll love the taste of this in your mouth soon, but for now, I suppose you just had something a bit funky for dinner, didn’t you? You’ll just brush your teeth when you get home. Now let’s get you cleaned up.”

Jonathan talks through wiping Corey down and pulling his clothes back into place, too. “You were so caught up in the fantasy of what you think happened today that you were distracted from any of the progress I tried to make with you today. It’s extremely humiliating. At the same time, this is perhaps most significant erotic awakening in your life.

“Maybe your sister was onto something. Maybe you are not as straight as you’ve always assumed you are. This question will eat at you. 

“Perhaps you’ll have to test out this theory; you’ve heard The Stud might be a good starting point; maybe next Wednesday, after midnight, late enough to go unnoticed.”

It doesn’t truly end until Jonathan is back at his desk, winding closed the levels of Corey’s mind. Nothing truly hits Corey until Jonathan says, “and… zero,” but then it’s a flood, arousal and shame and confusion making him jerk forward in his seat.

“Corey?” Jonathan asks Corey can’t even look up; god, what kind of pervert is he? Did he seriously just have some sort of wet dream in the middle of hypnosis? He didn’t even know that was _possible,_ god, what’s wrong with him?

“Corey,” Jonathan repeats, sounding concerned. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Corey says, shorter than he has any right to be, fuck. He fucked up. He is fucked up. “Sorry, I am fine, I just—I should go. I really wasn’t in the right place for this today. I’m sorry.”

Corey stands quick enough to make himself stumble. He must have sat weird at the start, and, fuck, when has that ever happened? 

“Are you sure you? You look a little pale. If you’re not at peace with how this session ended, I have the next hour free, and it would be no problem at all to—”

“Nope,” Corey interrupts. “No. Sorry, I just really—need to go. Work. I’m a little behind on the P-Flex project and I think I have an idea on how to move forward with that, and I know that’s not what we worked on—or, well—thank you for seeing me today, but I really have to go.”

He rushes out of the office, past the small talk he usually makes with Jonathan or Natalie at the front door, the dumpling place at the corner, everything else he usually blocks out for afternoons at the office.

Driving home, his mind is loud like it hasn’t been a long, long time. _Pervert. Creep. Pathetic._ And beneath all that, a desperate something he can’t even begin to guess how to scratch.


End file.
